March and her simple pleasures...
Don't worry. This one isn't going to be as woe is me as the last two. Mind you, I do love a bit of a self-preservation moan once a month. Partly because I'd go mad if I couldn't; partly because I'm about as self-absorbed as Carrie Bradshaw is throughout series 2 (apologies). Recently, I've gotten into the habit of having folded eggs in the morning. Though my breakfast preference will always be a hot almond croissant with a scalding flan centre, I have just spent £62 on underwear, so it's probably best that I remain faithful to the eggs for now. Before you judge me, I'm one of those women who still has knickers floating around in her drawer from 2013. Most women have at least one pair they can't seem to part with. Mine exist as personal allies; working together as a result of our mutual agreement: "To sit just below my boobs and allow enough elasticity for me to eat a medium portion of prawn fried rice, chips, and curry sauce" - Harriet...
